


in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten

by grantairrible



Category: The Iliad - Homer, The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Morning Sex, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-31
Updated: 2015-08-31
Packaged: 2018-04-18 07:42:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4697879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grantairrible/pseuds/grantairrible
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was dark here, and it had been dark in the place between. He didn’t want to dwell on what death had been like. But before that, there had been war, and there had been-<br/>“Patroclus.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic for tsoa!! I'm a big fan of the Iliad and while I have a few issues with tsoa (namely to do with some aspects of Patroclus' characterisation) it's just such a heartbreaking book and I love the romance and everything that I had to write something for it.  
> Title is from 'If You Forget Me' by Pablo Neruda, because if I can't think of a title I apparently just quote poetry.

Achilles shot up in the bed, which was far too soft and warm and comfortable.

He took a deep breath. It was dark here, and it had been dark in the place between. There had been… he remembered Odysseus, and Achilles had told him that he would rather live a slave than rule over the dead. He didn’t want to dwell on what death had been like. But before that, there had been war, and there had been-

“Patroclus.”

Someone stirred beside Achilles, someone he hadn’t noticed in the dark and the shock of waking up here. Wherever ‘here’ was.

“Everything okay?” Patroclus’ voice was heavy with sleep.

Achilles didn’t respond, _couldn’t_ respond. His heart was pounding in his chest. He had no idea what was going on, but Patroclus was here and alive and seemingly safe.

“Achilles?” Patroclus sounded panicked. There was a small _click_ and then soft light was flooding the room. Achilles didn’t even notice the technology, or the unusual setting he found himself in. All he could see was the man in front of him, who was pushing himself up to face Achilles. “Please talk to me.”

Achilles just stared at Patroclus, breath stolen from his lungs. There was a faint flicker of memory, of holding Patroclus’ body once it had been brought back, refusing to let anyone near it. Hesitantly, Achilles reached out a trembling hand and cupped Patroclus’ cheek.

“You’re here.” Achilles said, voice shaking. “You’re okay.”

Patroclus’ face softened, fear turning into loving concern. “Did you have a nightmare? Did you want to talk about it?”

“No.” Achilles said, and buried his face in Patroclus’ neck. “I can’t- just hold me, please?”

“Of course.” Patroclus said. His arms were around Achilles in an instant, pulling him down so they were both lying among the piles of soft blankets again.

“Don’t.” Achilles said, when Patroclus reached up to turn off the lamp. “I want to be able to see you.”

Patroclus bit his lip, embarrassed, and lowered his arm. “I’m not as nice to look at as you are.”

“You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen.” Achilles said, with complete sincerity. “And even if you weren’t, I wouldn’t love you any less.”

Patroclus glanced away, cheeks tinged pink, but with a pleased smile tugging at his lips. “I love you too. Now, sleep?”

Achilles made a noise of consent, and Patroclus turned over, allowing his back to be pressed to Achilles’ front. Achilles was sure he wouldn’t be able to sleep, that he’d replay scenes from the war, from his childhood, over and over in his mind. Within minutes, however, he found himself drifting off, lulled by the sound of Patroclus’ breathing, and the absolute _rightness_ of being curled around each other once more.

 

* * *

 

This time, when Achilles woke, he could remember everything. Not just his past life, but everything from his current one as well. They were younger now than they had been when they died, barely dipping their toes into adulthood. Achilles watched Patroclus’ face, serene in slumber, and felt a deep swell of contentment in his chest. After all they had been through in Greece and in Troy, all of those hardships, all that fighting, they were happy now. Achilles hoped, praying to forgotten gods, that Patroclus wouldn’t remember. Patroclus had never been born to fight, as Achilles had. Neither of them had revelled in killing for the sake of it, but nor had they spurned the life of a warrior.

Achilles sighed, and trailed a hand along Patroclus’ bare chest, mercifully free of scars. Patroclus had chosen to fight, but Achilles knew Patroclus had really been there for him. Still, Patroclus had made his choice to fight there, and had made the choice to fight in Achilles’ armour, and he had made the horrible, disastrous decision to approach the gates of Troy.

Achilles tried to ignore the tendril of guilt worming its way through his stomach. As much as he knew Patroclus made his own decisions, Achilles still knew he was responsible for the circumstances that had made them necessary. Not that Achilles blamed himself for the entire Trojan War. That was a level of narcissism that even he didn’t have.

“You’re thinking too hard for a Saturday morning.” Patroclus said, eyes still closed.

Achilles smiled and kissed him on the cheek. “Thinking about you.”

One of Patroclus’ eyes opened. “I’m right here.”

“Is that so?” Achilles asked, pulling Patroclus on top of him. “Well, then you won’t mind me just…”

“Nope!” Patroclus sprang off Achilles. “We made a rule, remember? No kissing without mutually cleaned teeth.”

Achilles pouted, stretching an arm after Patroclus as he made his way to the bathroom, teasingly clad only in a pair of blue boxer-briefs. “Sex doesn’t necessarily equal kissing. I’m sure your dick doesn’t have the tastebuds to mind.”

Achilles could hear the sound of spluttering coming from the bathroom.

“Come on, honeybunch!” Patroclus called, sticking his head around the doorway. Achilles groaned at the term of endearment.

“This is an underhanded ploy.” Achilles muttered, but got up and joined his boyfriend in the bathroom. Once his breath was suitably fresh, Patroclus pulled him in for a minty kiss, and Achilles found that he didn’t mind getting out of bed for this, especially when Patroclus pulled him into the conveniently nearby shower. There were many things familiar about Patroclus’ dick sliding between Achilles’ slicked thighs, but some things were new, or new to Achilles the hero, like the warm water pouring down their naked forms, or the conditioner that had been spread between Achilles’ legs. Achilles had laughed when Patroclus pulled the bottle out, but hadn’t complained, desperate as he was to feel Patroclus moving against him.

They found their way back to bed after the shower, slightly damp from being too distracted to dry themselves off properly.

Were it not for the fact that their sex life was outright flourishing, Achilles was certain that Patroclus would have wondered what had got into him. As it were, they were both young and energetic, and as such Saturday morning sex, even of the marathon variety, was far from unusual.

Achilles just wanted to feel Patroclus. Around him, in him, he didn’t really care. He wanted Patroclus to fill him up, and leave tangible reminders of what they’d got up to. Patroclus was only too happy to oblige, pressing Achilles into the mattress to fuck him, leaving bruises all over Achilles’ body with his mouth and fingers.

 

* * *

 

“Why did we decide to shower first?” Achilles asked, breathless, sprawled across the bed, not really caring that he was lying in his own sticky mess, and that he was streaked with Patroclus’ release.

“Shower sex.” Patroclus answered, too fucked out for eloquence. “If we shower again, will you promise not to jump me?”

Achilles groaned and stretched, all too aware of Patroclus’ eyes trailing down his lean form. “I couldn’t if I wanted to.”

“Goodness.” Patroclus said, “I’ve managed to wear out the ever-virile Achilles?”

Achilles just glared at him without heat, and gave up the pretence once Patroclus pulled him in for a gentle kiss. _Thank you_ , he thought, wondering if any gods were left to hear him _, thank you for the second chance._

**Author's Note:**

> The whole thing about preferring to live as a slave rather than rule over the dead is from book 11 of the Odyssey. I just found it so heartbreaking that I had to include it here (seriously, achilles spent all that time deciding whether to live young and glorious or old and forgotten, and then it didn't really matter after patroclus was killed, but death was so horrible?? like that's just SO SAD)


End file.
